How do we collect so much junk? I’m starting to get overwhelmed by the amount of stuff in my little house. I can hardly see the surface of the kitchen table with the amount of notebooks and brochures and notes and receipts on it-it’s a mess.

So where to start?

What do I keep, what do I dump? One needs to be in a completely unsentimental kind of mood to get rid of everything, otherwise it’s a waste of time. Some days that’s hard though…cinema stubs, boarding passes, receipts from special dinners…things I’m never going to go look at twice but I feel funny about dumping them too. Am I the only one who hangs on to this stuff?

Maybe I should ask someone else to do it for me. Problem solved!

Or does anyone else find it hard to trust a man with a ponytail?!?

I’ve had this problem for a while.  I say a while, it’s been most of my life really.  For as far back as I can remember I’ve had this problem.

Before I was old enough to understand what it was, it was embarrassing for my parents.  When I was old enough to understand what it was, it was of course embarrassing for me, and those around me.

Over time embarrassment turned to politeness.  Quickly though, that went out the window and before I knew it I had been isolated by the problem.

As I grew older I tried to get a handle on it, to understand it.

Medical books and later medical websites would offer no answers, only suggestions.  My doctor told me it was my diet, so I did all I could to change it in order to fix my problem.

Nothing worked.

I’ve lost so much because of it, jobs, friends and probably more noticeably to me, sympathy.

Last week I did something that I felt was a last resort and visited the doctor who had diagnosed me with the problem all those years ago, when I was a child.

He not only remembered me and my condition, but had also kept my records fresh on file should he ever need to refer to them for a more recent case in someone else.

He wasn’t entirely surprised to learn that I still had the problem.  I told him that I’d been to see specialists and they were stumped but “hopeful” of beating it.  I recounted a life’s worth of hardship and isolation.

He still said that he couldn’t figure out what was wrong and before he could send me to another old medical school friend of his for consultation, I interrupted and asked him something that had never been explored:

“Do you think it’s hereditary?”

“Oh, I think we can rule that out without any further consideration”

“But if it is, we might be able to figure how to stop it”

“No, it’s a false hope I really think we need to look at the diet again”

“Oh for Christ’s sake, we’ve been down that road before and I’m sick of it, I just want to know what’s wrong with me”

“Calm down, I can only imagine your frustration and the hardships you’ve experienced, but we have to be logical about this”

“I don’t understand how you can rule it out without even exploring it first”

“In my 34 years in medicine I have never heard, read or studied a case of hereditary diarrhoea”

“It has to be, it’s in my jeans.”

Interesting but not that surprising how this post from October:

http://theblogpound.wordpress.com/2008/10/10/twitter-challenge-will-michael-jackson-ever-release-another-good-song/

is now at no. 2 in the most popular posts on the site…

Dear Sirs:

Thank you for your letter of June 20th. After careful consideration, I regret to inform you that I am unable to accept your refusal to offer me employment with your firm. This year I have been particularly fortunate in receiving an unusually large number of rejection letters. With such a varied and promising field of candidates it is impossible for me to accept all refusals.

Despite your firm’s outstanding qualifications and previous experience in rejecting applicants, I find that your rejection does not meet with my needs at this time. Therefore, I will initiate employment with your firm immediately.

I look forward to seeing you then.

Best of luck in rejecting future candidates.

Sincerely,

Yer ma

D’ya know the way people in American cop/drama/whatever programmes always pound on the receiver-cradle button thingy when their line icut? The one that would cut them off otherwise?

In our modern telephonic era, is there an equivalent as dramatic? Futilely fiddling about with a mobile isn’t quite the same thing, especially if you have big, stumpy fingers…

I’m not sure what category this falls under…I discovered it when a friend linked to it on Facebook.

Zach16.com is almost like a website diary of a 16 year old guy who wakes up one morning to find that his ‘guy parts’ have been replaced with ‘girl parts’. Once you get over the disbelief, the story and videos are pretty intriguing, well they were to me anyway. I had to read and watch them all!

Not so interesting is the fact that the whole thing is an advertisement for Tampax but you’d never know, the word Tampaz is never uttered and you only see the logo once..interesting way of marketing…check it out, if even just for the girly enjoyment of seeing a boy have to have a period, LOL.

I’d go gay for Michael Bay,

Just hear me out and let me say,

If I were to have a moment, he’d make me sway

Oh yes, I’d go gay for Michael Bay.

*

I’d go gay for Michael Bay,

I’d cuddle him all the live long day,

Please don’t turn off in shock and dismay,

Would you not go gay for Michael Bay?

*

I’d go gay for Michael Bay,

We’d listen to music, a little Green Day

Then I’d make him pasta with pesto pureé,

I’d totally go gay for Michael Bay

*

I’d go gay for Michael Bay,

I can hear you all shouting, “OH MAXI, no way!”

But I’d let him teabag me without a delay,

Yes, I’d go gay for Michael Bay

*

I’d go gay for Michael Bay

I don’t even care about the gay cliché

Even if some thought it to be risqué

I’d go gay for Michael Bay

*

I’d go gay for Michael Bay

I’d show our love in a window display

I’d document it in a heartfelt essay,

I would defo go gay for Michael Bay

*

I’d go gay for Michael Bay

In winter we could travel by sleigh,

Or on the water and kick up some spray

I’d go gay all the way for Michael Bay

*

I’d go gay for Michael Bay

Do you get what I’m trying to convey?

Our emotions would bloom like a spring bouquet

Getting gay for Bay is the only way

*

I’d go gay for Michael Bay

I’d be faithful always and never betray

My life without him would be in disarray

If I went gay for Michael Bay

*

All of this I’d do without question,

If someone could make a cast iron promise to me that this fucker could never put his slimy mits all over another Transformers movie and ruin it for everyone just so that he could blow stuff up for $250m and ruin the expectations of everyone who loved the first fluke that he pulled off.

Sorry, that last bit didn’t rhyme.  I was doing so well.

Went to see Transformers, Revenge of the Fallen last night.  Please promise me you won’t.

If it keeps you out of the cinema, I’ll go completely over the top Dale Winton gay for Michael Bay.

I promise.

With the media hoo-ha after the Child Abuse Commission report, and lots of victims of abuse speaking out on the radio and telly, I find myself with no sympathy for those victims who’ve gone on to lead successful full lives.  In fact I resent them with a small bitterness.   The ones with spouses, families, business, glowing careers – why should I, never mind the nation, sympathise with them when they have so much more than I and most others do.

In the end I think what annoys me is that is the fact that moral sympathy is judged by category and social acceptability and not merit. Some victims are recognised with full media support and others not. But within the stamp of accepted victims, I can’t be expected to bleed my heart over every case as if they were all equally bad.  I empathise fully with the tragedy of the social outcast who missed out on most of life’s opportunities because of child abuse, but anyone who’s been blessed by fate to go on and lead lives that are better than mine is not going to get my sympathy just because they have the socially approved stamp of victim.

Because it freaks me out…big-time!

I took that photo at about 6.47 on a Sunday morning. I had been…on a night out.

Should I change it? And to what body part? (I have a lovely elbow].

I treated myself to a last-minute day-off today. I’ve loads of holidays left to take (23 days) so why not? And I’m on the evening shift so won’t be missed too much. (But I’ll be missed.)

My neighbour decides that such an occasion warrants the start of a DIY project. After the first few hours of thumping, the drilling started. Constant drilling.

I’m not impressed…

I have two things I do without even thinking about them.

Biting my nails and picking my nose.

I’m also occassionally very absent minded to my immediate actions.

Result?

My mouth tastes like I’m 7 years old again.

This is an unusual paragraph. I am curious as to how quickly you can work out what is so unusual about it. It looks so ordinary and plain, you would think at first that nothing was wrong with it. In truth, nothing is wrong with it. It is unusual though. Study it and think about it, but you still may not find anything odd. But if you work at it a bit, you might find out. Try to do so without any coaching.

“I’d love to wear contact lenses but I can’t,” says she.

“Oh really,” says I. “Why is that?”

“I have stigmata,” says she.

“Ah so that explains the god complex then”.

If we all had a reset button, as in one to erase and restart everything, would we press it too often as to make it redundant?

Just a thought.

Most people at some point have used the line about wearing clean underwear in case you get run over by a bus. It illustrates an inherent desire for dignity in death.  Which is the point I’m coming to.

Auto-erotic Asphyxiation.

Surely it’s the riskiest of all deathwishes. If you take a bad dose of cocaine, play Russian roullette, drink and drive, the worst that’s going to happen is you end up dead. And you would think that’s about as bad as it gets. But then the asphyxiation fans go one step better. For the chance of a sexual thrill not only might you end up dead, but you could end up dead, in a wardrobe, at 72, naked, with a rope tied to your neck and genetils, and the whole world remembering you as this forevermore.

It’s among the first things we remember about Michael Hutchenson. It’s the only thing I know about the British MP, he of the satsuma and fish net tights fame.

Surely that’s enough to make it not worth going there.  In the grand spectrum of sexual thrills, you’d think there are enough pleasures with a lower death/eternal shame risk that you’d give up on that notion.

Clearly I’m too niave.

Is it this?

It is now.

How can the government bear the hypocrisy of introducing a blasphemy law when the church has perpetrated what could be centuries of physical and sexual abuse of children?

Are they telling us religion is more important than people?

 

 

Wouldn’t you think child beauty pageants would be illegal in the States by now?

That is all.